Underground Bakery
by Without permission
Summary: Hermione helps Neville and Draco with a revolutionary muggle/wizard bakery and asks Ron and Harry to be the bakers since they've been taking baking lessons from Mrs. Weasley. All hell breaks loose. HP/RW NL/DM
1. The Power of Boredom

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Summary: After spending two years in the auror department, the trio decide to retire and aspire to more relaxing careers. Hermione goes off to help the odd pair Neville and Draco with their growing restaurant business, and the two bored Ron and Harry take lessons from Mrs. Weasley on baking. Hermione approaches them one day with an interesting idea for a bakery and all hell's let loose. Slash R/H D/N

A/N: I'm a baking and pastry arts major with the crappiest confidence in my skills and knowledge of the subject. So as a way to make sure I have everything I've learned drilled into my head, I've decided to write a fanfic on it. If there's any hardcore baker's out there I would LOVE your input on whether I've got the facts straight (constructive criticism on this would help improve my less than fabulous skills X.X), just remember there are different methods in producing pastries and breads, and the following chapters are just the methods I've been taught. Also! I have NO clue about the financial aspect of food service management, so I wouldn't mind advice on that if there's anyone out there knowledgeable on the subject :)

Anyway, hope you like this! I haven't popped out any fanfics for years, so I apologize if the writing's not that great…or if I overdid it on the information…

Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

_The Power of Boredom_

Making bread was more difficult than they thought despite the main ingredients being only flour, water, yeast, and salt. From what Mrs. Weasley told them, many different types of bread could be produced with just those four ingredients. It all depends on the amount of each ingredient, the type of pre-ferment, the temperature of everything including the room, the mixing method, amount of fermentation, and the type of oven and temperature they would be baked in. In some cases, such as when you're making sourdough bread, it also depended on what region you're in.

They just wanted to eat the bread, end of story.

They were in the kitchen on a warm summer day. The sun was streaming in, warming the kitchen as they sat in a daze at the table listening to Mrs. Weasley explain the complexities of bread. They knew the woman was an excellent home baker, but to have such vast knowledge on just bread itself, they were more than a little terrified. Harry would never look the woman the same again. Ron was traumatized, though he really shouldn't have been since she _did _have him homeschooled under her direction.

"There are different types of flour," she explained, waving to the bowl of flour in front of her, "we'll be working with bread flour. To be more specific, it's a hard winter wheat type of flour that has a protein content of 11 to 14 percent, the ideal number flour to making artisan bread like Baguettes and Pain Rustique is 11.5 to 11.7 percent, why? Because when you squeeze this flour, it doesn't lump up, nor does it need to be sifted, which means it's tough enough to make bread. Other flours range from hard to soft, hard for bread because of its high gluten content, soft for cakes because of its low gluten content, summer to winter which simply means the type of season they were harvested, and red to white –"

"Mum!" Ron cut in, his head swimming from too much information, "this is all going in one ear and out the other, can we just make the bread!"

"Oh…sorry I got carried away," she laughed embarrassedly, "It'll take a few days to teach you what I know, though," she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Wonderful, what are we going to do today then?" Ron stood from his seat and stretched. It looked kind of funny considering he was in a pink apron with frills, and his hair was pulled back with pins. Harry thought he looked like a girly guy about to belt out a soprano.

"First off, we'll make the pre-ferments for tomorrow's breads," she waved her wand, pulling out several bowls from the counter. "We'll be doing three Poolish, a Biga, and a Starter."

"Poo-lish?" Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. He tried to hide it by adjusting his glasses.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley nodded, waving her wand again to bring out her old scales. "Poolish is a wet dough, from that I mean that it has a high water content – a one to one ratio of flour to water. We'll be mixing three of these today and let them ferment overnight so they can be used for the Baguette, Rum Raisin Brioche, and Ciabatta."

"So…what does this do to the bread?" Ron asked hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't get a lengthy explanation.

"First off once it's fully fermented, it's then mixed with the rest of the ingredients" Mrs. Weasley answered instantly, her tone reminding the two friends of Hermione. "In bread all pre-ferments help in increasing the flavor, strength, and shelf life of the bread." She placed an empty bowl on the scale, set it to zero and started piling the bowl with flour. "Each of us will be doing one poolish – four ounces of floor, four ounces of water, and a pinch of the muggle yeast." She nodded to a tiny bowl of very little brown beads: instant yeast.

"What's the difference with poolish and the other pre-ferments you mentioned?" Harry asked curiously, waving his wand to the sink and getting the water to float onto his second bowl on his scale. Once that was done, he mimicked Mrs. Weasley and poured it into his bowl of flour, adding the pinch of instant yeast, and mixing it with his bowl scraper.

"Poolish is a wet loose dough, it gives the bread a more lactic flavor, Biga is a dry hard dough, it gives the bread a more sour flavor, and is also used for bread with low gluten. There's also the sponge, which is used mostly for breads with fats and sugars due to its added strength to the bread. Without it the fats and sugars would have softened the dough too much. Pate Fermente is actually a piece of old bread dough that's added to the next dough, and a Starter is a pre-ferment that uses the natural wild yeast from the flour, it's first fed with a sugar like molasses to get it going, and then it's fed with flour and water every day to keep it in check before using a portion to make sourdough bread…" she looked up at her students who gave are awkward looks, "did you get it?"

"In one ear, out the other, mum," Ron sighed, using his bowl scraper to cut into his half mixed poolish in order to get to the flour hiding under some dough.

"I'll explain them again when we get to it," Mrs. Weasley sighed, scraping dough off her bowl scraper. Over the years she'd grown fond of muggle products like her husband, but more for the practical things like aluminum foil and Tupperware. She pulled out a piece of aluminum foil and covered the top of the bowl. "I'd put these in a shaded cool area so they don't ferment too quickly under the sun," she advised as Harry and Ron repeated her last step once their Poolish was completely mixed. They placed their bowls under the top counter where the sun wouldn't get to them.

They moved on to biga, which was more flour than water, and then their starters which was flour, molasses, and water. Though they complained with their teacher exploding with too much information, they couldn't help the peaceful happiness that came over them as they started mixing bread.

Two years ago they wouldn't have expected to see themselves in the tiny kitchen of the Burrow, learning baking techniques from Mrs. Weasley. They also, even now, wouldn't have expected the woman to be so knowledgeable. Especially on things they'd never once see her do.

They had been taking lessons from her since the start of June, making pastries like pies and tarts to crème brulee and cake. Both weren't really sure why they chose such a hobby, they just wanted to relax.

It had been about three months since their retirement from the auror department. When they started, the only goal was to arrest any death eaters still hiding around. Within a year that task was completed. A surprisingly fast accomplishment in their eyes. Other people, however, would say it was no surprise at all; the trio had been completely dedicated to their jobs to the point where they barely slept and lived on pepper up potions and coffee.

Then the year after that was surprisingly…boring. With the threat of death eaters and Voldemort supporters gone, the wizarding world had fallen into a time of peace. There were barely ever any crimes or murders. The most Aurors were left to do was patrol the streets or go into the muggle police department. As tempting as that was for the trio, they decided they were done with fighting crime, at least for the moment.

It was now time to sit back and relax.

With the earnings and retirement money from their work as aurors Harry and Ron took up a few vacations to the tropics, adventures to the amazons, and even took a few comedic lessons with muggles on snowboarding in the Alps. Ron got into a bit of trouble with the ministry for charming his board in front of his instructors, albeit, the moves he pulled off definitely made the day memorable with the looks on the muggles faces. Hermione, however, used the money to branch her studies out to business.

As much fun as that was though, they were still antsy with boredom.

Not two weeks had passed from staying at the Burrow that Mrs. Weasley noticed them lying on the couch like lazy bums. Ron spread out upside down on the love seat, with his cheek flat on the floor. Harry lying on his stomach on the couch with his butt in the air. They had been discussing their regrets on retiring early for the hundredth time, but didn't have the motivation to go back.

Yep. They were bored. And if they were going to lie around like that, Mrs. Weasley wasn't having any of it.

She was making a fruit tart for dessert that day, so she got them to help her out. She made Ron roll out the dough, sent Harry out to pick the berries growing in the backyard, and set to make the pastry cream and glaze herself.

It was a simple step by step process of baking the tart shell, letting it cool before brushing the bottom with chocolate, filling it with pastry cream, and letting the boys decorate the tart with the picked fruit themselves before glazing it.

Normally Ron would pitch a fit and whine whenever asked to help out in the kitchen. And Harry, though he was a decent cook from years of making meals for the Dursleys, never had any interest in the kitchen, much less baking.

So it was a surprise to her when she saw the smiles growing on their faces as they placed the fruit over the pastry cream. She figured they must have been so bored that this brought some excitement to their lives. She didn't think too much of it at the time.

Then she started to see them from the corner of her eye, heads poking out from the edge of the door as they watched her cook dinner. She found it amusing; they were like little kids wondering what their mother was going to make for them.

The spying continued on for a week. She became more than a little curious to why they were always peeking.

And didn't Harry have a home to go to anyway!

The answer was simple. They wanted to learn how to bake. The fruit tart they helped her with had left an impression on them. They didn't do much, but once the tart was finished, they were hooked. They made nothing into something, and they wanted to do it again.

Boredom was a dangerous thing…

She predicted they wouldn't last one week. She took them under her wing, waking them up at the crack of dawn, and working them all the way to dinner. From the shocked looks on their faces she knew they'd been thinking this was an easy job. They were incredibly mistaken.

Compared to the art of the culinary arts, baking was a science. To make pasta, all you had to do was cook it in boiling water, rinse it and create a sauce with whatever was handy. You toss a pinch of salt here, a generous amount of cream there, and voila, dinner. To make something like a cake though, there was a strict set of ingredients, with a strict set of amounts, with a strict set of procedures. Add the eggs too quickly to the batter and it'll curdle, add too much flour to the mix and it's a rock, too much baking powder and it's the devil's shit. Most important of all, there must be an understanding for such procedures like the creaming method, because if you do fuck up, you'll know how to fix it.

There was also another difference. When cooking and you mess up in the end, you can add a little bit of this and that and make it delicious. When baking and your cake falls in the end, you have to start _all over again_. From the looks on Harry and Ron's faces when their first cake came out looking like flat gelatin, she knew they had no idea how tough baking truly was.

One week was too long; they weren't going to survive three days!

Then their third sponge cake came out white and springy and the same smiles she'd seen the day they made the tart broke through again. Ron even christened himself the king of all cakes.

She was still unsure of their dedication so she pulled a fast one on them. A Genoise. What made this cake difficult was that it didn't have chemical leavening like baking powder. It relied on the air cells trapped in the batter from the mixing process. They would definitely have trouble with the air if they didn't mix right, and there was the risk of burning their eggs on the bain marie, or double boiler if they didn't pay enough attention.

It took them several tries and many trips to the market, but they managed to conquer the Genoise, and by the time they reached cake decorating, two weeks had gone by. Mrs. Weasley was pleasantly surprised.

She watched them as they measured out ingredients for their Challah as their biga fermented on the counter. She noted the scars on their arms of their past battles against death eaters and vicious magical creatures, and the calloused hands from Quidditch games. She also noted the faint scars and burns of when they cut themselves slicing apples, or touched a sheet pan in a hot oven with their bare hands.

The mark of a baker. They were getting there.

To say she was shocked was an understatement. She was in her office at her house looking over a few notes for her classes when they knocked on her door and pretty much barged in. It wasn't that they had interrupted her on her study time, which was a dangerous situation for the poor devil who interrupted the wizarding world's cleverest and most studious witch anyway. It was that it was Neville Longbottom, and Draco Malfoy standing side by side with no animosity or fear of each other.

Hell froze over.

"Granger," Malfoy greeted with a nod, he wasn't smiling at her, which brought a bit of normalcy to her from this completely unexpected and very otherworldly visit.

"Hi, Hermione," Neville waved sheepishly, knowing how confused the woman must be. "How are you?"

"Er…" she took off her reading glasses and looked from her friend to her old school bully, "a bit lost actually…I…" she sighed, "Malfoy what the hell are you doing here? And with him?" she waved to Neville, "and in here? My office? Hermione Muggle-Born Granger's office?"

The blond man glanced to Neville awkwardly, shifting his weight before nudging the shorter man in the arm.

"You tell her," he muttered, not low enough. Hermione arched an eyebrow and looked to Neville who laughed nervously.

"I guess this is a bit of a shock for you – do you mind if we sit?" he rubbed the back of his head. Hermione nodded and gestured to the two seats in front of her. "Right…" he mumbled. They took their seats. Hermione waited patiently, mentally listing out the reasons why these two were here.

They were friends. A couple? Maybe business partners, Draco _had_ mentioned to the prophet that he would be taking a different route from the political world, actually he pretty much said 'not interested', but what did Neville had to do with his career endeavors? Was it anything to do with careers?

Maybe they were partnering up for some type of business…

What did that have to do with her?

She was studying business – oh right!

"This is going to sound weird, but we – including Draco – need your help with an idea we're trying to put together," Neville started, nodding to the blond who gave a curt nod.

"You and…Draco," she repeated, turning to said man. "And this idea is…?"

"We want to open fine dining restaurants in both the wizarding and muggle worlds in order to introduce a fusion cuisine of said worlds," Draco said promptly.

"It would really help in getting muggles and wizards together and understand each other's cultures," Neville added sensibly, "after the war, some muggles have become aware of our existence, obliviating them has no effect. Hundreds of years ago they would hunt and burn us, but with this new generation which is more liberal and accepting than their ancestors, we can show them that we're a peaceful community just as diverse and accepting as they are."

"That's a very optimistic view," Hermione said gently "but not all muggles are as liberal as you think, and neither are we. The point of the Statute of Secrecy was not only to protect ourselves, but to protect them. What would happen if an adventurous muggle wanted to meet a dragon? There's also the possibility of politicians using wizarding sources to declare war on other countries. We may be in peace, but they're still fighting out wars," she shook her head; "it can't be done."

"All the more reason to use food for peace," Neville persisted.

Hermione sighed. "You mentioned a fusion of muggle and wizarding cuisine. That alone goes against the laws of non-tradable goods. Besides, I think a muggle would freak out if they order something like a Turpis Salad, they'd think they're being poisoned with rotted spinach or something.

"But Turpis just grows that way," Draco frowned. Hermione resisted rolling her eyes.

"We're aware of all of that," Neville nodded, "we're not saying we want to reveal to the muggles everything about our world, we just want them to become aware of our existence, let them know we're friends."

"But – "

"We'll start with the muggles who already know about us. Political leaders, families of muggleborns and half-blood's," Neville went on. Hermione still looked skeptical. "They've known about us, but we've never exposed them to the dangers of our world, it can work out with the muggles who are still ignorant of us, but that's all to come in the far future if this even works, what we want is to bring muggles and wizards at the same table to enjoy a memorable meal."

"What is that your mission statement?" Hermione arched an eyebrow dryly, a little amused. "What do you plan to gain from this? Malfoy, I know this'll help you clean up your image from the war, that's obvious, but you?" she turned to Neville, "I thought you were happy with your herbs and roots shop."

"I am," Neville nodded quickly, while Draco straightened in his seat indignantly from Hermione's assumption. "But…well…it's a naïve dream, but all we want is world peace."

The woman pursed her lips to keep from laughing. Leave it to Neville to say a cliché Miss Universe line. Something was still bothering her, though. She turned to Draco suspiciously.

"You're in on this dream too?" she asked dully.

Draco bit the corner of his lip and gave another of his curt nods. She didn't believe him. In fact she couldn't even believe the two were planning such an idea, and sitting together with no animosity in her office.

"Could you explain to me," she crossed her fingers neatly over her desk. "How on earth you two are working together?"

"Long story," the two men said shortly. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Well…why come to me then? I haven't mastered business yet, and I don't have the funds to help you…with anything!" she raised her hands, letting them drop to the arms of her chair as she sat back.

"You're the cleverest witch of the decade, a war hero and Harry Potter's best friend," Neville said smoothly, "you can influence a whole nation if you tried."

"And Kingsley likes you more than us," Draco added unashamedly. Hermione flushed.

"Harry has more influence than me," she said half heartedly. It was hard to say 'no' to friends when they fed her ego.

"You're smarter," Neville rubbed on, knowing her weakness, "and you could help us in management and setting up a plan to ensure that muggle customers aren't scared off by any sign of magic."

"They could sign an oath of secrecy," she mumbled thoughtfully. "Make it all underground and mysterious…like an exclusive club…"

Draco looked two seconds from letting his jaw drop. He glanced at Neville's accomplished smirk. Throughout their whole trip to Hermione's house he'd been arguing that she wouldn't agree to their proposal, but Neville kept telling him it would be fine, he'd have her setting up ground rules by the end of their visit.

"But we can't force them head on with wizarding cuisine," Hermione said in the muddle of her babbling. The pair looked at her inquiringly, "with all the different flavors, it might be too intense and could send them in allergic reactions we will end up liable for."

"If not restaurants, what do we start with then?" Draco asked.

"A sandwich shop?" she suggested hesitantly, "candy shop maybe?"

"How about a bakery?" Neville said suddenly, with a face that could only mean that ideas were rolling. "Wizarding pastries are mostly normal in the muggle sense, we could introduce new flours, sugars, flavors and textures, and unlike a Turpis Salad, nothing will look like it'll poison you."

"I'll contact a few wizard patissiers I know from France to send a team over," Draco said instantly. Both Hermione and Neville held back their opinions of how obnoxiously rich the man just sounded. They exchanged grins.

"A bakery," Hermione said more to herself, "the world's first muggle wizard fusion bakery."

To be continued


	2. Rum Raisin Brioche

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: sorry, this chapter's more Arthur/Molly centric, and apparently Draco's sniffed some crack here. A bit of Harry/Ron stuff will show up in the next chapter though.

**Chapter Two**

_Rum Raisin Brioche_

Teaching Ron and Harry had brought a kind of youthful entertainment Mrs. Weasley felt she wouldn't experience again before now. Before she made the thing official with Arthur, she had spent most of her time learning her mother's recipes, and working at a local bakery. The sound of crispy bread straight out of the oven, the warm enticing aroma of chicken curry, that sweet smell of creams, pie dough, and fruit clinging to her like a natural scent, it all snatched Arthur the day he met her at Hogwarts, presenting some of her baked goods to her friends.

She smiled nostalgically as she knead her brioche dough, pushing one end with the bottom of her palm, stretching it forward, and pulling it back, turning the dough and repeating the process, each push and pull bringing her back to her Hogwarts days.

It was the start of her first year and she had already made friends. They gathered around her at the Gryffindor common room, complimenting her on her excellent rolls, brioche and croissants. She could feel his eyes on her as she distributed the bread amongst her group. At the time she figured maybe he was hungry too.

She turned slightly to take a glance at him and their eyes locked for what felt like eternity. The delightful chatter of her friends were muffled around her, all she could focus on was him, her ears ringing from her heart creating a fast paced drum roll against her chest. They were both transported into a timeless world where only they existed. His blue eyes hiding behind glasses that were on the verge of slipping off his nose. The stunned and lost look on his face that probably matched hers…

He wasn't the handsomest, and she wasn't the prettiest. But something about the staring contest they shared made them realize they could never find anyone prettier or handsomer than the one they were looking at now.

She offered him the last bread from her basket, which he took with a trembling hand and almost dropped when their fingers touched. It was a Rum Raisin Brioche, and it would soon become Arthur Weasley's favorite.

"Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head out of the past and looked up to her son who was giving her that look that said 'oh my god, she's snapped'. "Yes dear?" she said distantly, emotions still caught up in memories.

"I've got my gluten thing developed," he held up his brioche dough, completely smooth and rounded. Mrs. Weasley raised her eyebrows. She hadn't expected Ron to knead the dough so quickly, especially since brioche required a long intensive mixing style. She looked to Harry; he was still in the middle of kneading his dough and adding bits of butter every now and then.

Ron couldn't have done it so fast; even she was still in the middle of kneading. Wiping her hands on a wash cloth she took a chunk off of Ron's dough and gently stretched it as far as possibly. The smooth dough didn't rip, letting itself get stretched like gum. Mrs. Weasley stretched it so thin that the tiny chunk had become the size of her palm, being nearly transparent and smooth enough to vaguely see the other side of the room it was blocking. It was a gorgeous window.

She looked at her son with raised eyebrows disappearing into her fringe. How on earth did Ron do such a feat in the short amount of time they started mixing? Were his arms really that ridiculously strong?

She couldn't help herself, she voiced her thoughts.

Ron's ears turned red. "I kind of got a little too excited…it was squishy and fun…and it felt nice…"

"Huh…" Mrs. Weasley nodded as she returned to her kneading. She was getting the slightest suspicion that perhaps Ron had a talent for bread baking, but then again she also thought Charlie had talent in accounting, but he ran off chasing dragons.

"Now what?" Ron asked awkwardly, unsure of how to discern his mother's expression.

"Roll out the dough and sprinkle the raisins and almond past on top, roll it up like a jellyroll and form it into a ball, the more you work the dough the more you develop too much gluten and end up with a tough brioche so don't go crazy," his mother explained instantly, adding the last of her butter into her dough.

Nodding quietly, Ron rolled out the brioche dough as much as he could before turning to the counter where three bowls were laid out with strainers over them. They had macerated the raisins yesterday by soaking them in rum and a simple syrup solution of water and sugar. Today they strained the raisins to get any excess syrup off them. The almost paste was formed into a rectangle and placed in a freezing charm to harden it. They had chopped it into small squares today.

Ron grabbed his bowl and grabbed a handful of raisins, spreading them over the dough. He repeated the same step with the frozen almond paste which was kept next to the bowls on the counter. Mrs. Weasley watched him furtively as he managed to heed her advice and got all the raisins and almond paste on the dough in one shot.

He had big hands. Maybe that's why he was able to knead his dough faster.

They had to come up with a firm plan to convince the ministry to give them a permit to build the bakery in London.

Draco's earlier suggestion of French patissiers was easily snubbed. They wanted the bakery's target to be commoners, and the patissier's wanted high pay, and proper pricing on their pastries. By proper pricing they meant 5 galleons for a slice of cake or fruit tartlet, and for clientele with minimum wage, that was just cruel. Draco tried convincing them that the prices were meant to be low, but they weren't having any of it and backed down on his job proposal.

It wasn't the prices that worried them much. It was the fear of getting into illegal problems with France's Ministry of Magic. If they were to work in such a risky project, they expected high pay to balance it. They had reputations to look after.

Draco may be rich, but he wasn't willing to give employees their salary out of his own pocket. Fuck that.

Neville suggested they work on other aspects of the bakery first before worrying over the bakers. That's where Hermione came in with her novel worthy length of regulations she'd worked on all morning.

"Basic security measures for a wizarding bakery include observable paper cranes that fly around the dining area – Sakura's Sweets is famous for this one. There's also unbreakable charms placed on all glassware, and displays. Should a thief come to the bakery and try to steal or kill someone, protective charms are activated to detain the thief and shield the patrons and staff from any misfired hexes – "

"That happened to me once at the Frog's Hop," Draco cut in conversationally to Neville, "I was enjoying a rather delicious pumpkin stew when some nut burst in throwing hexes everywhere. He always missed, and he couldn't move from his spot once he started attacking. Aurors came in and arrested him a few minutes later…never ate there again; there was a fly in my stew."

The two former Gryffindor's stared at the blond blankly. One was still at a loss as to why she had her old bully in her house, and the other was wondering how Draco could randomly pop out a story like that. A fly in his stew. And at the Frog's Hop of all places…

"Okay…" Hermione neatened her stack of papers before continuing. "The problem with these security measures is that in the case that a danger does befall the bakery, the muggles would be more fascinated by the charms than run to safety. In order to avoid this I propose we use charmed video cameras instead of paper cranes, the protective charms are a fairly recent regulation put into all wizarding bakery's and restaurants, and I personally think it's best to keep them to ensure the safety of everyone – "

"It would also show that we are efficient in protecting them, it would gain us their trust and returning costumers," Neville nodded.

"Exactly, which goes back to my earlier suggestion of a contract," she flipped through her papers and handed them a rough draft of a contract written in very fine print. The two men leaned together to look at it. "They must be aware that when they enter the bakery, it won't be what they're used to, they must swear an oath of secrecy quite similar to the unbreakable vow, though they are free to instantly forget the experience of a wizarding bakery – "

"'Must have an open mind…no hostility towards those with magical abilities or they shall be removed at once from the facilities'," Draco read under his breath.

"I think they'll just sign this without reading it, Hermione," Neville said gently, "it's too much information – what?" He leaned back in surprise when Hermione presented them with a black muggle pen. He took it hesitantly and shot up in his seat from the explosion of information.

It wasn't painful, but it was surprising. All of the sudden he knew everything regarding the contract, the strict regulations, the nature of the bakery and its staff, everything!

"How'd you…?" he looked from Hermione to the pen.

"Concentrated charm that stores information into an object and transmits it painlessly to anyone that touches it," the witch answered promptly, and a little too proudly.

"I see…" Neville said nervously. Sometimes Hermione's genius scared him.

They stared at their finished brioche's. It was their first time making it, but out of a stroke of luck, Ron's actually looked better than his mothers. Hers was nicely fluffy with the crunchy chocolate glaze on top, toasted almonds, pearl sugar and dusted with powdered sugar. His was the same, but a little fluffier. Harry's barely even reached the top of its paper cups.

Mrs Weasley took a bite out of Harry's small brioche. It was obvious it didn't ferment properly. There was nothing wrong with the flavor, though it was a little on the sweet side. It wasn't as fluffy, but it wasn't a rock. She'd observed his kneading and knew he hadn't gone too far.

"What kind of yeast did you use?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously.

"Er…the one from yesterday?" he hadn't paid much attention to that part of the mixing process.

"Oh," she almost laughed, "Harry we used a different one today. Rum Raisin Brioche contains a lot of fats and sugars, regular instant yeast wouldn't be enough to help the dough ferment, we used an osmotolerant yeast instead to counteract all that."

"Osmo…that sounds muggle," a grin slowly crept up his face.

"Yes well, now you know why your brioche hasn't risen enough," she was kind of embarrassed, not because of her knowledge of muggle foods, but because Harry made it seem like she was learning something she already knew. A pupil teaching the instructor, wonderful.

She went on to Ron's brioche, who had already downed two of his creation.

"I think I like making bread," he said through a stuffed mouth, some crunchy chocolate topping dotting the corner of his lips.

Giving her son a withering look, Mrs. Weasley took a bite of his brioche. And stood there for quite a while.

Curious, Harry took a brioche himself.

And he stood there for a while too.

Ron looked from his mother to his best friend with growing apprehension. "Um…I didn't kill you guys did I?" he looked at the brioche in his hand worriedly.

At the moment Mrs. Weasley remembered something important about her sixth son. "Let me see your hands," she set the brioche aside and took his outstretched hands.

Warm. They were warm. She didn't realize it until now, but they had always been warm. She took Harry's, startling the young man. His hands were slightly colder.

'He'll probably make good croissants,' she thought rapidly, 'and Ron'd probably make good bread.'

So anxious at the look on his mother's face, Ron didn't know what else to do but pick up the rest of his brioche and continue eating.

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. They had been in Hermione's house for hours brainstorming ideas for regulations on both the staff and clientele. Hermione wanted a traditional framework of muggle security. Neville wanted the wizarding version.

At one point Draco suggested walking chairs to entertain the guests. They gave him a cold pitying look and quickly dismissed the idea.

At least they agreed on something.

The blond scratched the side of his nose, tempted to stick his finger in his nostril just to freak the two Gryffindors out so they could stop arguing.

Hermione and Neville gave him disgusted looks. It took him a long while for him to realize that he really was picking his nose.

Should he pretend to eat his boogers and freak them out even more?

"Oh my god don't do it!" Hermione leaped back in her chair, gagging. Draco sniggered.

Working with these two what going to be interesting.

"Oh god Draco NO!" Neville leaped back as well as the blond slowly dipped his finger in his mouth.

Please. Draco always made sure he kept to his grooming, and that included clean nostrils. There was no booger on his finger, it was completely clean.

Oh. That tasted a little salty…

OH GOD!

Her mother once told her that the talents of a baker often showed in the temperature of their hands. She had fairly cold hands. That meant she would make excellent pastries that dealt with maintaining cold temperatures. Laminated doughs like puff pastry dough or croissant dough required a controlled equal temperature between the butter and the dough otherwise the butter would cut through the dough if it was too cold, or melt into liquid if too warm.

Since she had cold hands, Mrs. Weasley was able to work with laminated doughs without too much risk of melting the butter. The same applied to chocolate when she was feeling particularly in the mood to make bon bons.

Those with warm hands though, excelled the most in bread. During the mixing process there's the chance that the warm temperature of the water will cool off. With cold bread dough, the yeast is not activated and fermentation doesn't take place. Warm hands kept the dough at its seventy five degree Fahrenheit temperature, leaving the yeast to work its magic and expand the cell walls of the dough with its many byproducts. In other words, it'll ferment.

Mrs. Weasley took another bite from Ron's Rum Raisin Brioche. The crunchy chocolate glaze was the same as her own; nicely cracked with a dull sheen of melted sugar. It was warm, sweet, chocolaty, and crunchy from the almond flour and crystallized powdered Swiss sugar topping. The one thing that made it heavenly, however, was its perfect match to the warmth and tenderness of the brioche itself, the macerated raisins, and square almond paste adding additional complex flavors to her tongue.

Swallowing and taking another bite she was instantly transported back to Hogwarts to the day she gave her last brioche to the awkward boy with the too big glasses.

He approached her the next day and claimed it was the best thing since the creation of Earth. He was hooked. She thought he was just being nice, but he took her hands and repeated himself more sincerely, his shaking clammy hands telling her how nervous he was just holding her like this.

She shyly looked into his eyes once more, at the danger of getting lost like last night, and all of the sudden she knew what he truly meant. It wasn't the brioche that was the best creation, it was her. Among all the girls in the world, Arthur thought that she was better than life itself!

"Mum, you're doing it again," Ron muttered loud enough for her to hear. His ears were red in embarrassment. He didn't know his first brioche was that good…

"Sorry," she laughed, knowing she was red, remembering the day Arthur first confessed to her. She suddenly realized she'd been making such a fuss over Ron's brioche that she completely ignored Harry's. She turned to him, but found him dreamily biting into his friend's brioche and staring into space.

"Ish sho goo'…" he mumbled through a stuffed mouth.

Smiling in amusement, she finished hers and waved her wand around the table, setting the brioche up artistically at the center of the table. Harry stole a second one as it ran to join the others.

"Tomorrow we'll start with croissants," she announced once the table was nice and set. Her two students nodded eagerly, still a little caught up in eating their creations.

To Be Continued


	3. Chocolate Croissants

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

**Chapter Three**

_Chocolate Croissants_

Since the start of the baking lessons, Ron had been getting less sleep. In a way, he was happy for it. It meant that he wasn't bored. He'd go to sleep early, wake up early, tire himself out making bread or tarts, and collapse on his bed when it was over. It became a habit not to stay up late due to his mother waking him up at the crack of dawn.

Tonight would be no different.

He turned over his bed to look at the empty one beside him. After their return from vacation, Harry had made an unspoken decision to stay at the Burrow for the rest of the summer, or however long he wanted. Ron was glad of this; he would have killed himself being bored on his own.

He was restless and uneasy. About an hour ago Harry left the room mumbling to himself. Normally he'd be just as exhausted as him and was the first to fall asleep. For some reason he didn't seem to be as tired tonight. Something was troubling him.

Was it because his brioche came out better than Harry's?

No. This happened before when they made apple pie, and Harry wasn't bothered by this at all. In fact, he ate most of Ron's pie that day.

He wasn't very sleepy anymore, and the slight growling in his stomach told him he needed a snack anyway.

Sighing, Ron slipped out of bed and left the room for the kitchen.

Most of his siblings moved out, so he didn't worry too much about being extra quiet going down the stairs. Besides, it was a pain to avoid all the creaks from the steps.

What was he hungry for? A sandwich? Some of the left over brioche?

His stomach growled again so he hurried into the kitchen, already picturing what to prepare for his snack.

A luxurious warm and bittersweet scent welcomed him. He raised his eyebrows. It was dark, but in the silver moonlight that crept in from the windows he could see Harry's back was to him, and since he hadn't noticed Ron's presence he was fully focused on something on the counter.

He recognized that scent. Any child would. His stomach gave its loudest growl and his mouth watered. That lustful sweet yet rich scent that wrapped around him so enticingly, a type that could only spur childhood memories of his mother pulling the tray out of the oven and cutting the delicious snack into squares. He loved the ones with the crunchy edges, and would fight through tooth and nail with his siblings to get the last one.

Brownies.

Harry heard his stomach and whipped around in surprise. "Ron!" he hissed as loudly as he could without waking anyone up, "you scared me!"

"You made brownies…" Ron zipped across the kitchen to the tray Harry had been blocking. Even in the evening light, he knew they were perfect. Just from looking at them he knew they were thick and chewy, and oh so buttery, the kind of brownie he absolutely loved.

"Would you like one?" Harry asked amusedly; holding the still hot tray with a rag as he pried one of the cut brownies out. It was the corner piece. Ron accepted it as if it were a gift from god.

"I love you, mate," Ron said dreamily, taking a reverent bite of his brownie.

He hummed in delight as he slowly chewed his first bite. His old habit of stuffing his mouth with as much food as possible had slowly started dying when he began taking the baking lessons. From the first time they made something, which was a sponge cake, Mrs. Weasley made it a point for them to slowly chew their food so they would really take in all the complex flavors of their pastries.

Harry's brownies were a lavish musical of flavors. It was smooth and deep, making his senses sing in happiness. The rich mixture of bittersweet chocolate and butter coated his tongue like a glove, creating tingles from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It was an explosion of pure ecstasy. He was swimming in a world of chocolaty goodness, and that crunchiness from the edges…oh that _crunchiness!_

Harry watched as Ron shut his eyes and reveled in the complex flavors of his brownie. Was it really that good? He grabbed one and took a bite of it. In all honesty he was actually a little resentful that Ron's brioche came out better than his, even though his mix up with the yeast was an honest mistake. He couldn't stop thinking about it, and decided to make brownies in order to clear his mind.

During the process of cracking the eggs and mixing the batter, he found himself thinking that he shouldn't have been mad. From what Mrs. Weasley explained, Ron had the ideal physical build to be a bread baker. His arms were strong, and he had big warm hands. It especially made sense when he finished kneading the brioche before even his own mother.

Harry chewed his creation, smiling in satisfaction. It was delicious, but with Ron's 'cloud nine' reaction he wondered if maybe he didn't taste it properly.

Then he remembered that the red head's favorite sweet was chocolate.

He chuckled at the crumbs clutching on the corners of his friend's lips. If he loved brownies this much he would have made more.

Ron held his brownie with both hands like a little boy. It was then that Harry realized just how big Ron's hands were. They were pale, freckled, and calloused; slightly pink at the knuckles and sporting long pianist fingers. Harry hadn't paid much attention to them before, but with them presented before him in the moonlight, gently holding a little square of chocolate deliciousness, they were quite striking.

Something twirled in his stomach and warm sparks swam in his chest, traveling up to his cheeks and warming them lightly. It was a funny feeling.

Maybe it was the chocolate.

…

The strange trio sat before the ministry officials in tense silence. Hermione was still surprised they made it this far in such a short amount of time. From what she learned from her classes, it would take longer than a few days to come up with a fool proof plan to present to banks or the ministry, they had to find a location for the business, have a mission statement, proposal, forecast in sales, regulations they would follow, how it would affect the economy, all sorts of tedious things. How they managed to pull off such a list of time consuming requirements in just five days, she had no idea.

And judging from how Neville and Draco handled these assignments, it wasn't the first time they worked on a business plan and proposal.

Kingsley looked up from the endless sheets of parchment the group provided him. "This is a very optimistic idea," he said gently, repeating Hermione from days before when Neville and Draco approached her.

"We know," Neville said calmly, "if you look at the second paragraph, this bakery won't be completely open to the muggle public; a select few will be given a trial run before we widen its exposure."

Kingsley and the others read the indicated paragraph, but still looked skeptical. "Will there be any special permission to import food products that conflict with the un-tradeable goods law?"

"No," Hermione said instantly, "most of the wizarding desserts and breads are similar to the muggle world, just that some are charmed and such. It'll conflict with the statute of secrecy, but the contract was built to keep the wizarding world from being unnecessarily exposed, only the clientele will know of its existence – "

"And be obliviated accordingly should they decide to go against the contract," Kinglsey nodded, "it's a good idea, but the contract seems to be like a deal with the devil."

"Which is why we've provided them with the option to cancel their contract if they feel too constricted and fearful of the idea, or they just can't keep the secret anymore," Draco replied easily, "once the contract is canceled, their minds will be wiped. The purpose of this experiment isn't to just show muggles the pastries of the wizarding world; it's also to see how willing they are to accept our world. If the reception is well above fifty percent, we can expand the clientele to those who are unfamiliar with magic, and perhaps branch out to fine dining restaurants, and if the reception is below fifty percent, we close the bakery and that'll be the end of it."

The minister looked to the rest of the officials for their opinions. They seemed to be taking it into consideration.

"And the one funding this project is you Mr. Malfoy?" a long nosed woman asked pointedly, her hairy eyebrows arched unimpressively at him. "Why go with such a project considering your past mistakes? The muggle world may not be aware of the notoriety behind the Malfoy name, but the wizarding world remembers well," she leaned a little over her desk, beady eyes piercing right through him, "the reception of the wizarding world might not be so positive when they find out this bakery's funded by a Malfoy."

He stared firmly back at the woman, "then I hope the muggle reception will outweigh the risk of having me as the funder."

"Let's not argue about the past," Mr. Weasley spoke for the first time, placing a hand over the woman's shoulder to keep her from arguing any further, "the proposal is a bit precarious, but to be able to connect with the muggle world after so many centuries…" Hermione smiled, she'd been hoping Mr. Weasley would say something, especially with his love for anything muggle made, "it may be just a bakery, but the possibility of creating good relations with muggles at this point in time, it could bring about a greater peace than what we have now, and what better way to do that than through food?"

"The muggle world is not in complete peace like us, Arthur," Kingsley reasoned with a frown, "they have wars and political unrest, they may be more willing to accept our kind, but to jump in at this point…they could take advantage of our magical resources. Don't forget that not all muggles killed us for heathens centuries ago, some did it for jealousy – they _wanted_ what we were born with."

"They've developed a magic of their own," Mr. Weasley argued back, "let's give them the chance to test this project out," he gestured to the three young adults sitting before them. "Can't hurt."

"They'll need a thorough set of security regulations," started to bushy browed woman.

"We have five pages worth of that after the contract," Hermione piped up instantly, startling the woman.

"The contract should be shortened too, people don't pay much attention to the fine print and – "

"We've charmed a pen to deliver the message mentally to the writer," Neville cut in, holding up the pen Hermione had invented, "painless and non-influential. It just delivers the message, that's all."

"And the location?" Mr. Weasley grinned.

"London," was the quick reply from Draco, "Angel."

Kingsley blinked, "Islington? You'll be competing with a lot of restaurants."

"That's the point," Draco smirked.

…

Mrs. Weasley's prediction was just as she had imagined. Wanting to make up for his mistake with the brioche, Harry paid closer attention to his croissants. He made the dough with the proper ingredients, let it ferment for two hours, and made and cooled a flat sheet of butter. So far everything seemed to be on equal terms with her two students.

After the croissant dough was de-gassed or, pressed flat, it had to be put in a cooling charm overnight.

The next day would show the difference. Now they had to make the butter pliable enough to be in the same consistency as the croissant dough. Ron had no trouble what with his warm hands, and neither did Harry. The problem occurred when they had to make the layers.

The thing about lamination was that both the fat and dough had to be at the same consistency and temperature in order for the process to come through perfectly. If the dough was too cold, the soft butter would get cold enough to puncture the dough which would make an uneven layer of flakiness to the finished product. If the dough was too warm, the butter would melt and aside from the mess, it wouldn't make as good flakes either.

Ron was having trouble with the butter. As soon as he got the dough folded over the butter, and started rolling it out, his warm hands got to the butter and dough making it stick to his rolling pin, and at one point, break a layer of dough. He ended up dusting and cooling the dough more than Harry.

After making the tri-folds that would make up the layers of dough and butter, they let the dough cool overnight again. Ron's croissant dough looked a little smaller than Harry's. He worked the dough too much in his frustrations.

Finally, when the dough had been rolled out, cut into triangles shaped into the famous croissant shape, proofed for another hour or so, and baked, the results said everything.

It was their first time, so even Harry's wasn't perfect. He needed work on his shaping. The tail should have been tucked underneath, not sticking out, and they weren't perfectly in the middle, so some were tilting after their final proof, one even came out looking like a cone. There was also a bit of a mess up during the egg-washing process. If the egg wash touched the layers, it would make them stick and not rise as much as it should.

However, Ron's croissants were a disaster. Because he worked the dough so hard the previous day, they shrank in the oven rather that grew. The terrible egg-washing and shaping didn't help either. When Mrs. Weasley took a bite of one of her son's concoctions, it was like biting into bark. Harry's, although also a little messed up, were like buttery flaky pillows.

"These were good for your first try," she said as they eyed their croissants in displeasure, "not everyone gets it at first."

"I think I'll stick to baguettes and brioche," Ron said, biting unpleasantly into his croissant.

"Can we make these with chocolate?" Harry asked curiously.

…

Pate a Choux

Butter – 4 ounces

Salt – 1/8 ounce

Water or whole milk – 8 ounces

Bread flour – 5 ¼ ounces

Eggs – 8 ounces

Boil the butter, salt and water until the butter has melted. Add the flour and mix until the formed dough no longer sticks to the sides. Remove from the heat and cool down by whipping the mixture, or roux. Once the dough has become warm, add the eggs one by one until the batter becomes soft and elastic. Note: if the batter as reached its best elastic point, refrain from adding any more eggs. Put the batter in a piping bag with a tip and pipe onto a parchment lined sheet pan desired shapes such as logs for eclairs, or rosettes for cream puffs, etc. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit until light brown and emits a hollow sound when tapped on the bottom.

His pate choux came out perfectly. They were nicely double their original size, and lightly browned and toasty. There would be twenty people visiting, and his mother wanted enough pastries to satisfy her guests. Plus it would be a moment to show off her son's talents.

He hated making pastries. The only thing they reminded him of were the forced lessons his mother pushed on him, the many prestigious chefs that always looked down on him, and the snobbish guests mindlessly stuffing themselves with his pastries, completely ignoring the complex flavors he unwilling worked to put into them.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why his mother suddenly wanted him to work in the kitchen. Such a thing was beneath him! He should have been in the ministry by now, working in the law department, auror department, ANY department but this!

With a twitching eyebrow he waved his wand over the two bowls of pastry cream and directed them to the log shaped pate a choux. Immediately the pastry cream came to life and flew into the logs, filling them without spilling a drop. After they were filled, he directed his wand over the filled logs and made them dip their top surfaces over the two bowls of prepared chocolate fondant.

They were simple wand movements, but very well practiced with his mental commands. It was a practice every pastry chef engrained in his head. Soon there were two platters lined up beautifully with freshly shining éclairs.

Blaise sighed as he moved on to the rosette shaped pate a choux. Now for the cream puffs.

…

It had been a while since Hermione visited the Burrow. After her break up with Ron she had been spending more time on work and school. It wasn't intentional. She was just a workaholic. So when she got home after the nerve wracking meeting with the ministry, she found a few somewhat humorous messages on her answering machine.

A long pause which took up half the message. Hermione was about to delete it when, "Hello? Hello? Are you really there or –"

"Did she say to leave a message?"

"Yeah, but what for? And what was that beep thing?"

"It's an answer machine; she's not there just leave a message."

"If she's not there how come I heard her voice?"

"It's a recording. Leave a message before it –" The message cut off and moved on to the next one.

"…Oh she's still not there."

"Then leave a message."

"Ron! Harry! Your croissants are ready for another tri-fold!"

There was a distant sound of two people running off in the background, followed by some banging and laughing.

"Did you leave the phone off the hook?"

"What hook? Oh! Oh shi –" The next message rolled in but the voices were much more distant and there was a faint sound of something rubbing against…hair?.

"…Still not there…and it's kind of quiet."

"Ron…you have the phone upside down."

"What? No I don't."

"Ron, just…" fumbling sounds, and some grunts of protest, "you have it upside down let me just – "

"I'll do it myself – " there was a crash and more fumbling then giggles which developed into laughter. Hermione had the impression that they were wrestling or something, then, "WHOA!"

"What? Oh…Um…oh look, the phone!"

"You have a…did I…? Are you…?"

"No! Here look, the phone, take it!"

"Oh right, hello – " Hermione stared at the answer machine with wide eyes, but didn't have much time to think on it because the next message came up.

"Hey, Hermione, it's Ron! I think I've figured out this pillowphone – teleplane - cellophane – that bloody thing muggles talk into!"

"Get on with it!"

"We were wondering – that is if you're not busy if – "

"Ron! Harry! Check your croissants; they might be ready for the oven!"

"Okay mum!"

"Wait leave the message first!"

"But the croissants – "

"It won't take long, just leave the damn message or it'll cut us off again!"

"Okay! No need to get all tetchy…"

A sigh, "why is this more trouble than it needs to – "

The last message came up. Hermione giggled quietly to herself. "Hey Hermione, it's Harry, sorry to leave so many messages, Ron still needs to learn how to use the phone. Anyway, we're having dinner at the Burrow and we were wondering if you'd like to come over. It's just a small thing, Ginny and Charlie will be here, and we haven't seen you in a while so I figured now would be as good as ever. Dinner's not for another three hours or so. We've also made some chocolate croissants we want you to try, so we won't take no for an answer, you need a break anyway. See you soon."

Hermione smiled as she looked at her watch. It would be an hour before dinner. She quickly got out of her business attire and slipped on something more casual, she'd have to apologize to the Weasleys for being so distant lately.

…

There was a lovely aroma coming from the kitchen. They enveloped her and took her back to the summer vacations she spent at the Burrow. The stories she exchanged with Ginny, the jokes and scolding's she shared with Ron, the warmth of the family…

Before she could really lose herself to childhood memories, she was pulled into a hug suddenly. She laughed, recognizing the chaos of jet black hair. She stumbled sideways when another joined in the hugging, his vibrant ginger hair brushing against her cheek. She smiled and hugged her best friends back.

She missed this.

They settled around the table, talking excitedly amongst themselves of the day's events. Apparently after leaving the auror department Ginny found happiness in joining the Holyhead Harpies. She was set to play against the regular team on a trial run before going against competing teams. Charlie was going to China where there was rumored to be a thought to be extinct dragon around the Mongolian borders. Hermione was so caught up in hearing their stories that she was taken aback when it was her turn to contribute.

Her plate was wiped clean by the time everyone's eyes were on her. She laughed in embarrassment as she grabbed one of the chocolate croissants from the center of the table. "Well, I've been having the weirdest week, I can say that much."

"You've been taking business courses," Mrs. Weasley nodded in understanding, "I imagine they have some odd assignments?"

"No actually," she took a sip of her pumpkin juice; a spicier version of Mrs. Weasley's compared to Hogwarts's pumpkin juice. "I'm going to be helping out with a muggle wizard fusion bakery, but the weirdest part is that I'm going to be working with Neville and Malfoy."

The family stared at her as if they didn't fully catch that. Which was true. They didn't. Hermione wondered if saying Malfoy's name was a wise decision. Where they still touchy about him?

"Malfoy?" Ron frowned, saying the name as if he'd just tasted something very nasty.

"I know," she sympathized, "he says he wants to redeem himself with this project, but I don't believe him. We've already interrogated him several times when we were aurors, I don't think he'll risk doing anything stupid."

"Aside from him, I didn't know Neville was interested in making a bakery," Harry grinned in amusement, disarming the tense air in the kitchen, "and a muggle wizard fusion one at that."

"I'm still trying to figure it out myself," Hermione nodded, breaking off a piece of her croissant, "but they're both really excited about getting this project started, we got the approval from the ministry today, so all we have to do now is find a few bakers and create a menu." She took a bite of her croissant as the family talked excitedly amongst themselves and congratulated her.

But she was no longer with them. She wasn't in the kitchen, or even in the Burrow.

She was flying, swimming, drifting in the delicate flakes of chocolaty goodness. They broke apart in her mouth with little to no effort, releasing its perfect marriage of chocolate and butter, taking her into a musical symphony of colors and aromas. Her toes curled in pleasure from the one bite, her taste buds singing all the way to heaven.

She took another bite and flew straight out of the earth and into the universe, more flavors opening up to her. There wasn't only chocolate in this magnificent croissant, but also a hint of coffee! Wrapped so beautifully in the layers of butter and flakes that it didn't stand out as a flavor of its own, it intensified the chocolate, driving tingles up her spine, awakening her senses, so eager to taste more.

Her mouth met fingers. She looked at her empty hand in surprise. She finished the delicious croissant without even realizing.

Blushing in embarrassment, she looked around the table, glad to see that no one noticed her inhaling the croissant. There were more chocolate croissants at the table, glittering enticingly at her, begging her to eat them.

She shyly took one. No three. "Did you make these?" she asked Mrs. Weasley, who had secretly been watching her in amusement; "they're amazing!"

"Wasn't me," the matriarch grinned, nodding to her two students too busy fighting over the last bun to notice.

Hermione's eyes widened. Harry and Ron? Was this what they've been up to since their retirement!

She took a bite of her second croissant and was transported once more to the universe.

She found her bakers.

…

TBC


	4. Job Proposal

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: I'm really sorry for not updating in months, it's winter term now and I'm back in labs so I need to focus on that more. I'll try updating faster, though, thanks for reading!

…

**Chapter Four**

_Job Proposal_

…

To anyone who saw it, the house was beautiful. Lush in the many flowers that decorated the lawn and backyard, vibrant in its perfect partnership of black and white paint. Extravagant gothic windows, the elegant vine-like gates. The gardener tending to the plants, sun blossoms glowing, the picture perfect apple tree neither too big or too small to block the sun. It was a house of dreams.

To a Malfoy, such a house was modest.

Draco sauntered past the gates and made his way up the brick path. He hadn't visited his old friend in years. Probably because he feared the mother's sanity, and somewhat vicious hostility toward him during and after the war. That's not to say he didn't exchange an owl or two with his friend, which was why he found himself in the frightening position of visiting him.

The French pastissier's hadn't worked out. Word on the street was that his friend had recently taken up baking lessons on the insistence of his crazy mother. Upon asking him who his instructors were Draco had no choice but to go to his home and give him a proposal.

Plus, it would give him the chance to be away from his overbearing mother. Who wouldn't want that?

He rang the doorbell, praying a house elf or his friend himself would answer the door.

…

Neville could faintly recall the very few times he visited The Borrow. It was a loud and rickety place, but also warm and happy. He had heard that his two famous school friends were staying there after their mad trip around the globe, locked in a world of boredom. He did not expect that they were taking baking lessons from Mrs. Weasley.

Very good baking lessons, from what Hermione excitedly told him through floo.

"They've made these wonderful chocolate croissants! We've got to put it on the menu, Neville! They're absolutely amazing!"

So now he was sitting in the kitchen with Harry and Ron opposite him and their grand teacher standing proudly behind them. He spared a glance at the woman, recalling stories from his grandmother about a little bakery in some obscure little town. It held many delicious treats and rolls so light and buttery they made your tongue sing. Mrs. Weasley worked in that shop in her teens before it caved in and closed. Something about financial issues.

Now this skilled unknown-until-now chef has transferred everything she knew to her youngest son and his best friend.

Neville looked at his plate of Tiramisu. There was nothing striking about its appearance. It was typically light and fluffy with the coffee soaked layers of cake, the ladyfingers on the side and the cocoa powder dusted on top. Neville wasn't an expert; it looked like any other slice of Tiramisu.

He picked up his spoon, scooped a bit of it and took a slow bite.

It was an outburst of sex in his mouth.

…

The mother was gone on an errand, lucky for Draco. Now he found himself sitting in the back porch of the house with a lovely view of the gardens and random little fairies that scurried about along with the décor of fountains with angelic depictions, the fragrant and loving summer breeze…

Draco ignored all that. He had the same thing at his home, but more extravagant.

What was important right now was trying to convince his old friend to help him out in his baking business as baker.

Blaise took an elegant sip of his jasmine tea, carefully set it back on its plate with the tiniest clink and looked up at the blond man waiting patiently with his leg haughtily crossed over the other like a rightful noble. Hands resting on the armrest on his chair, and the usual bored expression on his face like he had better things to do. It had been two years, but Blaise still knew the difference between an anxious Draco and a truly bored Draco.

He was surprised the Malfoy heir wasn't biting his nails yet.

"No," Blaise said flatly, returning to his aromatic tea.

"Why not?" Draco asked with an arched eyebrow. He waved to the display of intricately detailed petit fours and small helping of lemon tea cakes. "You're more skilled than any of the professionals I've seen, and I'm sure you'd like a few hours break a day from your mother…" he paused thoughtfully, "unless she's calmed down?"

Blaise resisted the urge to laugh, keeping his face stony. "She forced this hobby on me, I don't enjoy baking."

"Then why didn't you say so?" Draco frowned inquisitively. Blaise was just as he remembered: always doing what his mother says.

Blaise tried answering, but didn't seem to know how. Instead he continued sipping his tea in order to compose himself. Draco smirked.

"If you haven't stopped, then you must find some joy in it," he picked up a petit four and scrutinized it. It was in the shape of a square with little golden curves and dots against a white fondant background. Draco was no pastry expert, so his mind was boggled in how his friend could create such intricate details to an already tiny dessert.

He took a bite, and was brought into an explosion of sweetness that could only mellow out with his tea. There was a hint of raspberry in that one bite, intensified with a bit of lemon. Draco looked at the half eaten petit four. There were three layers of cake in between a thin lining of raspberry jam. One lining was yellow for what Draco assumed to be the lemon. Then at the top layer was a thin strip of marzipan. Alone it would have been too much, but with something like tea, it was…actually pretty freaking delicious.

Draco looked up at his friend, careful to keep his expressions in check. So this was the result of five months training under the finest pastry chefs of the world.

…

Ron and Harry looked at each other with raised eyebrows. After hearing Hermione explain what she'd been up to lately, they were absolutely shocked. But now that Neville was coming up to them asking for them to be the bakers of their crazy business idea, they were…stupefied.

"I thought Hermione was being nice about you guys, but she's right," their friend said enthusiastically, "you two are brilliant, I've never had a Tiramisu so light and creamy before!"

"But we've no baking experience outside of here," Harry argued gently, "we learned home baking, not…_high end_ production!"

"I know," Neville nodded understandingly, "Draco's scouting for other bakers too, we can train you in speed and consistency, that's all you really need, you've already got the talent."

Harry sighed while Ron perked up. The last time he was told he had any talent it was over his skills as a chess player. He rather liked being told he had talent in things other than a board game.

"Hold on, what'd you say?" he asked with a growing grin, "say it again."

Neville blinked. "You have talent?" he said uncertainly.

"Hear that, mate?" Ron smacked Harry's arm, "we've got talent."

At that moment, the wooden canary bird resting over the oven started chirping. It was an invention of Mrs. Weasley's after working on two things at once and forgetting the third thing in the oven. Ron waved his wand over the bird, instantly shutting it up. He opened the oven and peered inside.

The kitchen was already filled with the warm scent of bread baking; now it became stronger once the door opened. Ron narrowed his eyes against the extreme heat of the oven. The bread was nicely brown and shining, crackling beautifully under the heat.

Smiling proudly, Ron grabbed a few rags and pulled out the tray lined with freshly baked bread. Or rather, filled with one loaf. Neville looked at it wonderingly, about to drool from the rich flavors come out of the bread.

Ron set the bread over the stove, dizzy with anticipation on getting a slice of his creation. He admired the bits of rosemary and herbs decorating the top against the brown oiled crust. He knew he baked it just right.

"This is focaccia," he answered simply.

…

"We'll double your salary," Draco offered. They had moved from the porch to the living room which was just as he remembered all those years ago. Elegant in Victorian themed furniture and décor, soft tones of white and tan, the wooden floors gleaming, and the fireplace roaring at a comfortable temperature. Draco wasn't too fond of such interior design, but to each his own he supposed.

Blaise watched his friend with slight irritation as every type of offer popped out of his mouth. Apparently he was the same as ever, he definitely couldn't understand the word 'no'. He wondered why he hadn't kicked him out yet. He should have, he had better things to do than listen to silly job proposals.

"Draco," he leaned back from his position in the couch, "you're richer than me, you could spend all the money you want and still be well above 'financially comfortable', why on earth do you want to create a bakery – and with Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger?"

Draco pursed his lips, his shoulders tensing up, "I have my reasons."

Blaise resisted rolling his eyes, instead opting to raise an elegant eyebrow. "Which are?"

The blond squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, unwilling to explain himself, and only serving to get Blaise's curiosity to peak.

"All right I'll take a guess," he smirked. "You're rich enough to live your whole life without a job and still leave your children with a little something, could be a business venture possibly? But why with muggle fusion? You're trying to redeem yourself to the wizarding public aren't you? Or is there more?" he grinned evilly as Draco unconsciously fiddled his fingers while glaring at him. "There is more…you're looking a little nervous there, could you possibly be trying to impress someone?"

"That's not true!" Draco snapped irritably.

Of course he hadn't changed, only two years had passed since the war, and Draco was still the snobbish little boy he met at Hogwarts. Blaise resisted the urge from laughing. If it wasn't his father the blond was trying to impress it was always someone else. Bellatrix for example, Snape, even Voldemort, though the idiot realized too late that he'd rather not gain the Dark Lord's favor seeing as it was hard to maintain.

Blaise's smirk remained firmly planted on his face, "So it is someone? Who could it be I wonder – "

Embarrassed, Draco stood up, "Fine, if you don't want the job I won't force it on you, there's probably other bakers better than you anyway, after all you've only had five months training, that's nothing compared to years of experience from others."

Blaise raised his eyebrows, now fully interested. True, in the past Draco was always chasing after the shadows of those he wanted attention from. But at least then he did it with some kind of dignity and composure. His reaction just now was completely the opposite. Whoever this was the blond was trying to amaze, it wasn't just for a simple smile of approval.

"You're in love," he'd never thought he'd see the day. Who on earth could it be?

Draco's face reddened. "That's…preposterous! This is merely a business venture, I don't have time for stupid things like love – I haven't even found anyone to suit my tastes."

Blaise thought furiously. If Draco was trying to create a bakery with muggle and wizarding fusion, it had to be for someone who was pro-muggle, and who probably loved cute little things like sweets and long walks on the beach, disgusting rubbish like that. What woman wouldn't like those things though?

He was also committing to this project with Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, two of the least likely people a Malfoy would ever even say hello to. Maybe this person was a close friend of theirs, or the person was among the little trio…

Hermione Granger?

Blaise's eye twitched. Granger wasn't someone who could so easily be taken by Draco's attempts at making nice with the muggles. But then again why her? Perhaps this was a long standing crush that developed into love. Blaise wasn't ignorant of children teasing each other because they didn't know how else to express their affections. Draco wasn't very discreet with his bullying on Granger when they were at Hogwarts either.

But he couldn't ignore Longbottom. He too was a victim of Draco's bullying, and even now Blaise still wasn't sure of the blond's sexuality.

Or he could be completely off and this was just Draco's attempt at redeeming himself to the wizarding world…

No that was ridiculous; Draco was too lazy for public approval.

Finding out the mystery person of the Malfoy's affections could be entertaining. And leaving home a few hours a day to keep his sanity from his insufferable mother wasn't a bad idea now that he really thought about it…

"What do you have planned for your menu?" he asked, stalling Draco from making his way out the door.

The man hesitated. He eyed Blaise cautiously with suspicion and hope. "There's a tentative menu planned," he replied with a slight shrug, "a small array of breads, a few cakes, tarts, probably some French pastries, chocolates – "

"What kinds of chocolates?"

Draco blinked in surprise and quickly tried to remember what he discussed with Neville and Hermione, regretting for forgetting the sample menu. "I suppose truffles for the most part, a few magical ones like a different version of chocolate frogs, dancing chocolate flowers…er…I don't know what else…Neville wanted a chocolate birds to entertain the customers."

Blaise nodded before stopping short.

… 'Neville'?

It couldn't be.

The blond waited patiently for his response, unaware of the gears rolling in his friend's head.

Could it possibly be…?

Now the job proposal was starting to look more entertaining than before.

"Who else have you got planned for baker's?" he asked, masking his genuine curiosity.

"I'm not sure," Draco frowned, "I believe Neville's gone to see a few people Granger's found."

He did it again! Exactly how close were he and Longbottom for him to use such familiarity?

But Neville Longbottom? Where did that come from? What could he have done to make Draco fall for him?

"Double my salary, I don't want a putrid little kitchen to work in, the place has to be spotless and up to date on all muggle and wizard kitchen tools, I don't want to have to cook my creams and batters all in the same bloody pot because you're cheap arse couldn't buy a few more – I want them stainless steel and copper lined, I want silicon molds and mats, rolling pins with and without handles, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want muggle ovens as well, deck ovens for breads, convection ovens for whatever else I feel the need to bake. I want brand new sheet pans, a huge walk-in refrigerator with an attached freezer, molds of any shape for petit gateaux, top of the line knives and mixers, a massive assortment of pastry tips, the very best chocolate – I prefer Valrhona, it's one of the few things the muggles can make right, a blast chiller, rolling wracks with breaks and that don't rock, I want the floors perfectly flat and _not_ tiled, I hate cleaning floors and having soap and water trapped between the cracks – "

"What the bloody hell do you take me for?" Draco screeched, "I'm not paying for all that out of my own pocket, you're going to earn all that rubbish from your own work and how well the costumers receive it."

Blaise almost pouted. At least he tried. "Cheap as ever," he muttered scathingly, "Fine, at least have the kitchen manageable, I'll kill you if you stick me in a cramped little room with bad lighting, terrible plumbing, and no proper tools. I'm not a god; I need resources to make good pastries."

Draco pursed his lips. "Is that all?"

Blaise tapped his chin thoughtfully, "If you don't at least get me this one thing, you can find yourself another baker, it's essential in making good chocolate, so if you won't get it for me, I doubt you'll find anyone willing to take up this position – "

"What is it!" Draco cut in irritably.

"I want a marble table. Not granite, not metal, _marble_."

…

They had spent the entire day trying to find a common ground. Neville wanted them to be bakers in his business, that much was certain. What they couldn't understand was how they would be able to feed an audience of strangers at a fast pace, producing by mass instead of minimal.

"We don't know anything about the workings of an industry," Harry argued for the tenth time.

"I _know_," Neville drew out exasperatedly, "we will help in providing the right instructors for that. Draco knows those kinds of people, he even tried talking a few French pastry chefs to work for us."

"And what went wrong?" Ron asked dully, he too wasn't too bright on the idea of working in a bakery, no matter how much Neville praised him.

Neville sighed tiredly, "it's muggle wizard fusion, they didn't want to get in trouble, and they were too expensive."

Both friends raised their eyebrows in surprise, "Too expensive?"

Neville gave a wry grin, "Draco's surprisingly cheap for a rich man, nothing like his parents."

"He's not very cheap on himself though is he?" Ron crossed his arms, recalling the biting envy in seeing the blond wearing all those nice clothes he wished he had.

"True," Neville nodded, "but don't change the subject, I'm asking you both for a…risky, but exciting opportunity, weren't you two bored anyway?"

Harry spared Ron a sidelong glance. They really were bored even though they'd been entertained with the baking lessons. Still, to bake for people they never met…what if they didn't like what they made? What if they weren't efficient enough?

"Who else have you got?" Ron asked.

Neville bit his lip. "I think Draco's looking for someone…says he's been trained by pastry chefs around the world – that's not to say he'll take the job, or that he's better than you two. You've only been taking lessons for what? Two months? And look what you've made!" he waved to the tiramisu and focaccia sitting at the center of the table.

"They know nothing about sanitation procedures, or plated desserts, we haven't gotten that far yet," Mrs. Weasley spoke up for the first time. "There's plenty for me to learn as well. I've only taught them what I know and that knowledge is from…thirty, forty years ago? They don't know about the new styles pastry chefs have adopted in this decade, they'll be swamped."

For once, the two young men agreed with her over-protectiveness, but Neville was not convinced.

"I'll double your salary."

"I'm in," Ron said instantly, gaining raised eyebrows from his mother and friend. He laughed sheepishly. "It's money…" he mumbled.

"We'll be opening two months from now, we're still trying to figure out renovation procedures and getting supplies and ads," Neville explained quickly, "it'll be enough time to get you two trained." Harry still looked hesitant. "This isn't just a bakery for the sake of a bakery. We're attempting something that's not been done for centuries, a chance to rekindle relations to the muggle world."

"It won't be easy…" Harry said half heartedly.

"If it doesn't work, we close the shop and that'll be the end of it."

"It's not that," Harry shook his head distractedly, "I love baking, I don't want it to turn into a job if I accept your proposal, that's what happened when I was an auror."

"We'll give you all the creative freedom you want."

"Yeah but…" he sat up startled when Ron's warm hand fell on his shoulder.

"Why not give it a shot, if you don't like it you can always just quit," he said easily. Harry stared at the wooden table, torn between accepting and turning Neville down. He fed the Dursley's when he was a child; it wasn't a fun experience, especially with Dudley's demands. Could he handle demanding customers?

He'd rather fight Voldemort again…

"If you love baking, it'll never become a chore, that's only up to you," Mrs. Weasley reasonable voice poked through his thoughts, "You chose to be an auror because you wanted to help people, and when the wizarding world gained peace there was no need for a high demand of aurors. Baking is different, people need food, even sweets, to get through the day whether they've been having a bad day or they want to celebrate. You'll be needed, Harry, trust me."

The raven head blushed lightly; he'd forgotten how sharp the Weasley matriarch was. "I suppose…"

Neville grinned in relief. That's two bakers, now they needed one or two more for production to be decent enough. He stood up, snatching another slice of Ron's focaccia. "I'll be back next week with the contracts. Thank you so much, you've no idea how badly we needed good bakers like you." He gathered his bag from his chair, "you won't regret this, trust me."

"I hope so…" Harry mumbled.

…

The place was somewhat underground, nestled between two fine dining restaurants that probably had salads she wouldn't be able to afford. She stared at the tiny alley in disdain. It was a dump, but it was all they could afford with the bank's loan and the approval of the ministry. Apparently, the place was used as a garbage dump before Neville and Draco bought the property.

Letting out a sigh, Hermione hesitantly walked down the three cement steps into the alley. Space wasn't a problem, she was pretty sure with a few extension charms, they could fit about two hundred people comfortably in the bakery. What worried her was the kitchen.

She did a bit of reading about the state of kitchens in the industry. There had to be plumbing for certain things like ovens that emitted steam, a station for washing dishes, another station to wash floors, a sink for hand washing. There also needed to be emergency exits and ventilation, a designated spot to put the garbage. All sorts of things.

She looked at the mere few yards of space they had. There was no going around it, they needed to use the same kinds of charms used on Grimauld Place.

Now for the cleaning. Her lip curled up in disgust at the rats scurrying around and the few garbage bags nestled against the wall that were spilling some unknown smelly substance.

They had a lot of work to do.

To Be Continued


End file.
